


This Is Not A Love Song

by raikaya (rqyh)



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: //sweats, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Western, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bullying, Fluff, Foul Language, Hand Jobs, IT JUST WENT NATURALLY INTO THE STORY OKAY, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Sad with a Happy Ending, Secret Relationship, Sex, Smut, Swearing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and Biphobia, frick you a lot, honestly frick you david, hopefully, i think, i think its nicely written :v, im really proud of this fic okay, it isnt that graphic, its just, lots of kisses, might be ooc but who cares, pls help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rqyh/pseuds/raikaya
Summary: They say love is supposed to be simple, that the moment you feel your heart drop to the center of your chest, you've fallen in love.But love isn't easy at all, no. Anyone who says that has never been in love. Or, at least, has never loved the way Wonpil has.





	This Is Not A Love Song

They say love is supposed to be simple, that the moment you feel your heart drop to the center of your chest, you've fallen in love. And in a way, maybe that's true. Some people also say that love is a feeling, after all. An emotion felt by the heart and the heart only. Love felt only by those who can fall into it.

               But love isn't that easy, no. Not at all. What easy thing is there in this damned world? Why fall into something when there's no ground to cushion you when you crash down? Why love when you aren't able to, aren't ready to?

               Questions like this keep Wonpil up at night, especially after what happened a few days ago. He’s lying down on his bed, staring up at the barren ceiling, save for the lone lightbulb at the center of it all. It’s a cold night, but there's no blanket to cover him up. He feels like ice could better comfort him than any fire ever would.

               He closes his eyes and finds himself staring up at a black space, void of everything except the sound of his heart, the hollowness of it. The world nothing but this. The world nothing but his.

               When he falls asleep, he feels warmth come over him, a blanket trying its best to comfort him. Arms wrapping around him. Lips caressing his. Fingers running through his hair. Loving him. Liking him. And liking liking him.

               When he wakes up, he finds himself alone with no blanket over him. Dreams can be cruel like that sometimes.

               He sits up and just stares down at the bedsheets for a while, minutes passing by slowly, fastly, depending on how you see it.

               Love isn't easy at all, no. Anyone who says that has never been in love. Or, at least, has never loved the way Wonpil has.

               He leaves his bed and closes the door on his way out of his room, quiet as a mouse.

 

Laughter is the first thing that registers in his mind when he walks in the school, laughter from people he doesn't know. He finds himself walking in a herd of people, the strides he takes shorter than usual. But it's fine—he doesn't really like Literature that much, anyway.

               He reaches his locker a few minutes later than usual, reaches to grab his books, closes it to be on his way. He turns to get to class, when he hears a conversation his ears just can't bear to not listen to.

               “—ome on, don't play with me,” says a tall boy to a much shorter boy, who has his back pressed against his locker, books pressed against his chest.

               “I already told you—I don't have any money today,” the shorter boy timidly says.

               The taller boy scoffs. “No money?” he asks. “You live alone—you don't have anyone to cook for you. How else would you eat without money?”

               “Someone is treating me—”

               “Like there's anyone who would actually treat a loser like you?” He actually laughs out loud at that. “Just fucking give me your money, you fa—”

               “Oh, there you are, David—I was looking for you.”

               A different boy approaches the two of them, and they both turn to his direction.

               “Younghyun,” David says, letting out a laugh. “Great timing. I was just finishing business with this loser.”

               Younghyun raises an eyebrow. “Business?”

               “Fucker said he doesn't have any money on him today.” David jeers at the shorter boy, who cowers in fear. “Said someone would treat him today?”

               The scoff that comes out of Younghyun’s lips is cold.

               “Who the hell would?” he says, chuckling. He doesn't even look at the shorter boy. “Come on, man, let's get to class,” he says to David. “Not like you'll get anything from this one. Go ask Rodel—you know he's always got something.”

               “Psh, bastard’s weird as fuck, Younghyun. You know he likes vag _and_ dick?”

               “Yeah, disgusting. Come on, let's go, we’ll be late.”

               The two leave the scene without a single look back and Wonpil watches as the short boy lets out a loud sigh, looking at the direction they just left. Then, he shakes his head and moves on. Wonpil does, too.

 

He ends up cutting class at third period. Not really something he'd normally do, but he figures he needs a change in pace once in a while.

               There's something freeing about cutting class and leaving the stale air of four walls caving you in. You don't care if it isn't the right thing to do. You don't care if you'll have a truckload of work you need to catch up on. All you care about is how free you feel, how for a few moments, even when there’re tears streaming on your face, you feel happy, relaxed, like how you can deal with the rest of the day so long as you don’t face it.

               It’s the kind of freeing feeling that cages you in once you become addicted. Wonpil figures he’ll try not to make it a habit; he has people who care about him, after all.

               He roams down the halls of the school, pretending as if he's just on his way to his locker. He passes by trophies, class photos, multiple corkboards with multiple posters on them. The glee club is recruiting. Again. Who knows why.

               He finds himself nearing the door of the gym, and the closer he gets, the louder the voices get, the sound of basketballs hitting the floor, of sneakers squeaking against it. He finds himself in front of the open door, finds himself staring into it.

               A group of boys, playing basketball when they all should be in class. Younghyun is here. So is David. And a couple other guys Wonpil has seen but has never cared enough to know.

               Then, he locks eyes with one of the guys, and time stops for a moment. Just a moment. Who knows how long that had been.

               All he knows is that when that moment ended, Wonpil immediately turned away and walked on, moved on, not wanting to turn back. He continues his way down the hall, hearing the loud footsteps of a teacher coming inside the gym behind him.

               He doesn't look back, no. Even if he wants to. If he does, he'd be breaking a promise. And Wonpil does not do anything like that, ever, no matter what.

 

It’s during lunchtime that Wonpil is suddenly entrusted with a secret that he didn't know he had to keep. It's perhaps a heavier secret than his, perhaps something that could kill the both of them if the information got to the wrong hands. That is, anyone but Wonpil’s.

               He had gone in the library to eat his lunch, not having the energy or willpower to surround himself with the noise of the school. His mind needed peace and quiet, craved it, especially when his thoughts were as loud as a siren.

               But when he unlocked the backroom of the library using his spare key as a member of the book club, when he walked inside the room filled with books, and tables, and even more rooms inside, he found more than that.

               What he found was a boy. And another one. In a room further in. One boy inside the other. Bended over him as the other lay on the table, back arching, holding onto him like there wasn't anything else he needed, letting out moans so loud it would've spread to the rest of the library if the backroom wasn't soundproof.

               The boy bended over the other was the timid boy from before. And the boy holding onto him was Younghyun, groaning out his name for dear life.

               “D-Dowoon…” he breathed out, breaths sharp. “F-fuck… right there, baby… R-right there…”

               “Right here, Younghyun?” Dowoon whispered in his ear, pushing into him at a fast pace, as if they'd been at it for a while now. “Does here feel good, Younghyun?”

               “I-it feels goo— _oh, fuck, baby_.”

               Younghyun started moaning louder, pulling Dowoon down closer to him, whispering out his name over and over and over again, as if there wasn't anything else he wanted to say.

               And Dowoon kept whispering words in his ear, his pushes getting more rapid, irregular, like he was close, too. Then, he went to bite Younghyun’s neck and the boy was drawing out a long, long moan, as if his desperation was finally being satisfied.

               Movements became slower. Noises started to dim down. And breaths were now slow, and regular. The calm after the storm.

               Wonpil watched as Younghyun reached a hand up and cupped Dowoon’s cheek. He pulled him down for a tender kiss, something more innocent than what they had just done, and Dowoon kissed him back in a way that told everyone in the room that this wasn’t the first time their lips met each other like this.

               And when Younghyun pulled away, there was a smile on his face, and an even bigger one on Dowoon’s. It was then that Wonpil decided to leave the backroom, decided that he didn't need to eat his lunch anymore, and decided to keep this secret to himself.

               He had lots of room in his heart, you see. Room for two of the heaviest things in the world.

 

Love isn't easy—that much Wonpil knows. And it's a thought that keeps him looking out the window during class, keeps him walking dazed in the hallways, makes him trip on his way to the school clinic. He doesn't feel good; he hasn't been feeling good since that day. He figures it's a valid enough reason to stay away from every student and teacher there is. How lucky he is that the nurse is out today.

               He lies down on one of the beds, closing his eyes before even catching a glimpse of the ceiling. He knows it's white, anyway. Knows that four fluorescent light bulbs are situated at an equal distance from one another. Knows that there isn't anything but that.

               He doesn't know why he went here. If he wanted to cut class, he could've just gone and went home. Heaven knows his sister would understand. Heaven knows his parents wouldn't need to.

               But he went here. For one reason or another. Maybe he's being stupid, sentimental, and downright pathetic. Maybe. But he's already here. And the beds here are somehow more comfortable than the one he has at home.

               The door opens and Wonpil is sent back to a few days ago, back to a thousand kisses peppered onto his skin, back to a pair of arms holding onto him, back to a single voice telling him what he needed to tell him. Things he both loved and hated.

               “Mrs Park? Or… maybe Sungjin? Is no one h—”

               A figure stops just beside Wonpil’s bed and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know who it is.

               “Shit,” the voice says, and Wonpil finally opens his eyes to see a pair of eyeglasses looking down on him, hair dyed blonde, stature taller and lankier than anyone Wonpil’s ever seen. Or perhaps there is someone like that, but Wonpil wouldn't know because he's never looked at anyone else.

               “Oh, shit, he's awake,” Jaehyung says, and Wonpil just looks up in annoyance before closing his eyes.

               Silence passes by on slowly, Wonpil having no intention of initiating conversation with someone he isn't supposed to be talking to.

               But the mattress dips down and Wonpil opens his eyes to furrow his eyebrows at Jaehyung; what is he doing when he did what he did a few days ago?

               “Cutting class, huh,” he says, and Wonpil squints at him, suspicious. “You did the same thing last time.”

               “I thought you said to never speak of that ever again,” Wonpil says, feeling a tiny crack form at the corner of his heart. He mends it by looking at the wall.

               “I did. And it still stands. I don't want anyone to know what we did a few days ago.”

               Wonpil stays quiet, the silence of it all deafening to his ears. He continues to stare at the wall, at the pristineness of it. They maintain the facilities of this school well, he's noticed.

               “How’ve you been?” Jaehyung asks, not moving away from his position. “I saw you by the gym earlier. You cut class then, too, didn't you?”

               “Why do you care?” Wonpil asks, turning to him, sitting up from the bed. “No, actually—why are you even speaking to me? You told me that was a one-time thing. You said that the moment you'd leave the room, you'd go back to pretending you didn't know me. So, what the hell are you doing?”

               Jaehyung’s voice is soft.

               “I don't know,” he says. “I really, really don't know.”

               Wonpil lets out a slightly frustrated sigh, turning to glare at the wall, pulling his knees in and pressing them against his chest.

               “The nurse is out. So is Sungjin,” Wonpil informs him, not looking. “The headache medicine is in the drawer next to the table.”

               “How did you know I needed headache medicine?”

               “Because you weren't playing with the others in the gym earlier. You were lying down on the bleachers and massaging your forehead. Usually, you're always the first to try and grab the basketball.”

               “Usually?” Jaehyung questions, and Wonpil says nothing, not wanting to say anymore.

               Then, after a while, Wonpil feels Jaehyung put a hand on Wonpil’s, which is resting on the bed, the other one over his knees. He turns to him sharply, wondering what ever the hell he is doing.

               It takes him a split-second to realize that there's a pair of lips pressing against his, and a pair of blurry, closed eyes behind a pair of eyeglasses pressing onto his nose bridge.

               Jaehyung kisses him further, probably sensing Wonpil’s surprise, but he remains to be, everything that's happening a stutter in his brain.

               Jaehyung abruptly pulls away, stares at Wonpil with a shocked expression.

               “You didn't kiss me back,” he says, almost breathless. “You kissed me back before; why didn't you kiss me back now?”

               Wonpil lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

               “Do you really think people kiss other people back like it's a charity?” he asks, incredulous. “You kiss me senseless three days ago, tell me to not tell a single person, treat me like a stranger, and then come here to kiss me and expect me to kiss you back? The fuck kind of logic is that?”

               The hand holding his grips tighter, and Wonpil knows he should swat it away. He knows he should remove his hand and best be on his way.

               But he doesn't. Because he's stupid and hopeless and pathetic. And as much as he knows that kiss wasn't right, he still wants it, wants it peppered over him over and over again.

               “I don't know, okay? I don't know!” Jaehyung almost raises his voice, squeezing his hand like it's his lifeline. “I don't know why I thought you'd kiss me back, I don't know why I’m talking to you when I made you promise to not talk to me, I don't know why I’m even here in the first place, but I just know that I miss you and I want you and I’m sick and tired of pretending I don't!”

               Jaehyung finishes with a chest heaving heavy breaths, and now it's Wonpil who's staring at him in shock, almost speechless, breathless.

               “What…” Wonpil starts, hesitant. “What are you sayi—”

               “I’m saying that I've liked you for a long time now,” Jaehyung says, breathing harder, as if it's a thought he's been holding back for so long. “You're always in the library, and you're always using the gym when you need to get a quick shortcut from one place to another, and your smile; it’s—”

               Jaehyung bites down on his lower lip, hand shaking now.

               “I just—I just can't like you; I’m not allowed to,” he adds quickly, as if to not make any misunderstanding. “The guys; they—and my family, they—everyone just—no one would—I don't—I can’t—”

               Jaehyung looks down, still breathing heavily. 

               “I can't,” he says. “I just can't.”

               Wonpil keeps looking at him, the flurry of words only still settling down in his mind. How long has he kept this in? How long has he thought about this that he can't even find the words to tell him what exactly it is? Like no words could describe it? Like nothing ever could?

               Jaehyung continues to bite down on his lip, trying to calm himself down, the grip on Wonpil’s hand a bit painful now; Wonpil isn't even sure if he's aware that he's still holding it.

               Wonpil simply removes his hand away from Jaehyung, who looks up sharply, eyes suddenly scared—

               But then Wonpil is intertwining their fingers together; he couldn't have done that with the way Jaehyung held his hand before.

               “You're kind of fucked, aren't you, Jae,” Wonpil says.

               At that, Jaehyung lets out a breath of laughter, a mixture of relief, incredulousness, and bitterness.

               “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I kind of am.”

               And this time when Jaehyung crashes their lips together, Wonpil kisses him back, bringing up his other hand to caress the back of Jaehyung’s neck, and Jaehyung pushes him down on the bed of the clinic, kissing him and kissing him there.

               It's a repeat of three days ago, except this time Wonpil is less surprised, less taken aback. This time, he isn't letting Jaehyung do with him as he pleases, even though he would like to. This time, he's making Jaehyung do what he wants, too, makes him pull at his hair with an, “I like that,” makes him kiss a certain part on his neck with an, “It feels good here,” and lets him kiss him senseless, because he loves it when all logic flies out of the window.

               And the moment Jaehyung unzips his pants and starts sucking him, there is none of that left, save for the hands coming to cover his mouth, knowing that the clinic is not as soundproof as the backroom of the library is.

               He bites down on his lips so there's no room for a moan to escape, only soft breaths through his nose, only the burning feeling in his abdomen coiling up and making him turn his head against the pillow, loving everything about this. Loving everything about him.

               When he reaches his climax, he arcs his back, giving in to the beautiful sensation of the high of it all, the moment when it's just you and that feeling, just you and the fire burning up the room. A moment so beautiful. A moment he wants to replay over and over again because it was just that good.

               Gradually, everything slows down—them, the world, the moment. Wonpil wonders if Jaehyung needs to feel that high, too, and from the look on his face, he looks like he does.

               “Come on,” Wonpil says, “let me get you off.”

               Jaehyung doesn’t protest much, as Wonpil makes him lie down next to him, facing him. He kisses him senseless, too, still high from the post-climax. His hand finds its way under Jaehyung’s pants, under his boxers, and the moment he starts stroking him, Jaehyung is letting out low, soft moans in his ear, a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tight.

               Wonpil asks him things like, “Is here good?” and “Does this feel good?” and Jaehyung tells him, “There, right there,” and “Fuck, that feels good, fuck.” The sounds that he makes, the words that slip out of his tongue send shivers down Wonpil’s spine, and he kisses Jaehyung again because of it, loving how he moans into the kiss, loving the sound of it.

               When Jaehyung comes, he draws out a long groan directed straight in Wonpil’s ear and he relishes it, peppers his neck with kisses until he’s done with it. He feels the breath Jaehyung makes against his neck, feels the tickle, the warmth, and falls in love with that, too. Even that, too.

               They stare at each other for a moment, just letting the silence fill up the room. It wasn’t like this last time. Last time Jaehyung had only kissed him one more time before leaving the room with his last message, leaving Wonpil to think there wouldn’t be anything like that between them ever again.

               And yet, here they are.

               Suddenly, voices come from outside the room in hushes and inaudible chatter, and Wonpil sits up in alarm, remembering the way Jaehyung bit his lip, remembering the way his hand shook. He gets up to get off the bed—

               But a hand grabbing his wrist stops him.

               He turns back and sees a pair of eyes looking at him, with an expression he can’t describe or distinguish, and he glances down at the way Jaehyung is holding onto him, like he doesn’t want him to go. Just like how Wonpil didn’t want him to go but didn’t do anything to stop him from leaving.

               Slowly, Jaehyung leans in to give Wonpil a long, sweet, and tender kiss, even as the noise of the school hallway gets louder and louder, as if one of the students is bound to open the door and catch them at any moment.

               But when they pull away, they’re still alone in the clinic. And when they pull away, Wonpil places chasing kisses along Jaehyung’s way. And when they pull away, the first thing Jaehyung says is, “Let me drive you home.”

               “But we still have two classes left.”

               “You already skipped almost half of them.”

               “My parents will wonder why I’m home early.”

               “Then, let’s just drive. Wherever you want. Let’s pretend we’re free, just for a couple of hours. Maybe a few more if you tell your parents you were out doing a project for class.”

               Wonpil kisses Jaehyung again.

               “You’re a bad influence,” he says.

               Jaehyung kisses him, too.

               “Like you’re any better.”

 

They drive wherever that day, going places Wonpil didn’t even know existed, kissing and not being afraid of kissing him. He tells his parents he’s staying overnight at a classmate’s house that day for a project, and the next day, he tells them he’ll be spending the weekend there, too. In a place that’s only for them. In a place where they can be them.

               Love isn’t simple. And it isn’t easy, or a breeze that dances in the wind as if it doesn’t have a care in the world. There are factors, and there are risks, and sometimes, love can kill.

               But love, in spite of all of that, is natural. It’s something everyone feels and something everyone knows, no matter what form it takes, no matter what kind of love it is. It’s something that’s either kept in a bottle, or spilled out and broken for the world to see. It’s something that everyone has, and something no one does.

               And the way Wonpil loves Jaehyung is a way only he can. With bitterness and passion and humor and sincerity. With a bottle bottomless. He loves him with all his heart and more, even when Monday comes, and they don’t even look at each other.

               Because in a few years, when people start to realize that there’s more to life than just high school, and Wonpil follows the trail Jaehyung left for him to help him find his way to a different city, they’ll be looking at each other and no one else, holding hands and kissing each other like no one else, and loving each other, like no one else can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing to say about this except thank you eric nam for the wonderful song i named this fic after; everybody say thank you eric nam
> 
> also i guess i should put the anon setting off that fic now, now that im posting this hm
> 
> edit 02/05/2019: also!! [this](https://twitter.com/raikayyylmao/status/1057064900332122113) is the jaepil drabble i posted on twt that was basically the "concept art" of this fic hehehe ^^
> 
> twitter: [@raikayyylmao](https://twitter.com/raikayyylmao)  
> curiouscat: [@raikayyylmao](https://curiouscat.me/raikayyylmao)


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